You can’t stop the prophecy-
what will happen, will happen. God will be under construction and we will bare nude to ourselves, to others and none {none- empty}, our witnesses will be our own mirrors, posing, as to get ready for a party. Wine will be served through bullet holes with cups of pus oozing out from our bodies. We will cling to our belongings and say to them I am sorry! Tears will roll down and we will have only boats to catch them. The captain will spill out his guts and offer them on a plate to the leaders of the world his mates will barf! on their papers and will swear against their own pens whose ink’s shall be vein red and their nails shall be the nib as if writing on their own grave. Curses shall be written as though other worlds will read them today, we will be witnesses of the future, lamenting over the past and cursing it all that speaks through our mouths. Sacred thoughts will echo out from the womb of the bare earth, its fertile plains lie words to the authors who waste their ink’s with just scratches and squabbles on refined or recycled paper whose life now is seen diminished by the thought of our kind which shall see the colour only through our sixth sense and wonder “what are these ghosts speaking to us?” wall hangings will come alive to give haunting stares to their owners on the streets and curse them on their blindness which our kind walk with sticks a feat away form our feet, hitting the floor, the ground and cursing the one who looks down from the clouds.
And now enjoy your meal!
*The word work was printed for an exhibition in Chitrakala Parishath with photo- manipulated works on the month of –21st to 28th February 2009 , as a part of my final year display.
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